It was five o’clock in the afternoon. The day had been splendid and the
sun shone brilliantly on Caesar still standing on the glorious pedestal
of his victories. Outside the barricades of the Rue de la Paix and the
Rue Castiglione, the crowd was standing in a compact mass, as far as
the Tuileries on one side and the New Opera House on the other. There
must have been from twenty to twenty-fire thousand people there.
Strangers accosted each other by the title of Citizen, I heard some
talking about an eccentric Englishman who had paid three thousand
francs for the pleasure of being the last to climb to the summit of the
column. Nearly every one blamed him for not having given the money to
the people. Others said that Citizen Jourde would not manage to cover
his expenses; Abadie[95] the engineer had asked thirty-two thousand
francs to pull down the great trophy, and that the stone and plaster
was after all, not covered with more than an inch or two of bronze,
that it was not so many metres high, and would not make a great many
two-sous pieces after all. These sous seemed to occupy the public mind
exceedingly, but the principal subjects of conversation, were the fears
concerning the probable effects of the fall.
[Illustration: Barricade of the Rue Castiglione, from The Place
Vendôme.]
The event was slow in accomplishment. The wide Place was thinly
sprinkled with spectators, not more than three hundred in all,
privileged beings with tickets, or wearing masonic badges; or officers
of the staff. Bergeret at one of the windows was coolly smoking a
cigarette; military bands were assembled at the four angles of the
Place; the sound of female laughter reached us from the open windows of
the Ministère de la Justice. The horses of the mounted sentinels
curvetted with impatience; bayonets glittered in the sun; children
gaped wearily, seated on the curbstone. The hour of the ceremony was
past; a rope had broken. Around the piled faggots on which the column
was to fall, great fascines of flags of the favourite colour were
flying.
The crowd did not seem to enjoy being kept in suspense, and proclaimed
their impatience by stamping with measured tread, and crying “Music!”
At half-past five there was a sudden movement and bustle around the
barricade of the Rue Castiglione. The members of the Commune appeared
with their inevitable red scarfs.[96] Then there was a great hush. At
the same instant the windlass creaked; the ropes which hung from the
summit of the column tightened; the gaping hole in the masonry below,
gradually closed; the statue bent forward in the rays of the setting
sun, and then suddenly describing in the air a gigantic sweep, fell
among the flags with a dull, heavy thud, scattering a whirlwind of
blinding dust in the air.
Then the bands struck up the “Marseillaise,” and cries of “Vive la
Commune” were re-echoed on all sides by the terror or the indifference
of the multitude. In a marvellously short time, however, all was quiet
again, so quiet, indeed, that I distinctly heard a dog bark as it ran
frightened across the Place.
I daresay the members of the Commune, who presided over the
accomplishment of this disgraceful deed, exclaimed in the pride of
their miserable hearts, “Caesar, those whom you salute shall live!”
Everybody of course wished to get a bit of the ruin, as visitors to
Paris eagerly bought bits of siege bread framed and glazed, and there
was a general rush towards the place; but the National Guards crossed,
their bayonets in front of the barricade, and no one was allowed to
pass. So that the crowd quickly dispersed to its respective dinners.
“It is fallen!” said some to those who had not been fortunate enough to
see the sight. “The head of the statue came off—no one was killed.” The
boys cried out, “Oh, it was a jolly sight all the same!” But the
greater part of the people were silent as they trudged away.
Then night came on, and next day a land-mark and a finger-post seemed
missing in our every-day journey. Until we lose a familiar object we
hardly appreciate its existence.